Cyberpunk Patriarch-Chapter 92 – I Think I’ve Heard That Somewhere Before

Arthur leaned against the cracked concrete wall, a lit cigarette dangling between his fingers. He kept quiet, giving David space as the kid finished vomiting into a pile of refuse near the alley corner.

David wiped his mouth, looking pale and shaky. He hesitated before muttering, "I... I can't..."

Arthur exhaled a stream of smoke, his voice calm but firm. "I'm a cyberpsycho, kid. What makes you think a maniac like me can just sit down and talk things out?"

He flicked the cigarette butt onto the ground and reached out, giving David a quick tap on the back of the head—not hard, just enough to snap him out of it.

"David, I'm asking you now. Why the hell are you here?"

David scratched his head awkwardly. "I ran into Aunt Lucy near a bar. I just... kinda followed her. Wanted to check things out. Then, well..."

Arthur slapped his own forehead.

Curiosity kills the cat, indeed.

He shook his head and lit another cigarette. If it weren't for the nicotine, he'd probably be tempted to slap the sense into the kid right there and then.

Still, he couldn't help but see some of himself in David. The boy's reckless thirst for excitement, the impulse to chase after danger just to feel alive—it was all too familiar. He'd been like that once. Willing to throw his life away for the chance to be someone.

Arthur exhaled, then nodded. "Wait here. Stay hidden. I'll go pull our people out of this mess."

He crouched down, grabbed a bloodied rifle lying near a corpse, checked the bolt, and tossed it to David.

"Don't die here. Not until I'm back."

With that, he turned and made his way toward the stairwell, cigarette smoke trailing behind him.

David caught the rifle, his hands trembling. The weapon was still slick, its surface sticky with blood. Even as it cooled, the warmth of his grip seemed to bring the blood back to life, its scent sharp in his nose. But he said nothing. Instead, he crawled under a nearby table, clutching the rifle tightly.

Arthur pulled up his contact list and called Melissa.

"My kid's on-site. Mind lending a hand and fishing him out? I'd rather not haul a damn tow truck full of trauma kits for one brat."

The voice on the other end exploded with sarcasm.

"I'm your nanny now? You're there already, huh? Fine. Sit tight. I'll clean up your mess and blast away the baby cannons for you."

Arthur shivered. Yeah, love might last a night, but survival was about picking your battles—and pissing off Melissa was never worth it.

He activated his cloaking and began moving toward the stairwell. The building was eerily quiet, every step echoing against rusted metal and blood-slick tiles. His boots left prints—dark red ones.

Halfway to the stairs, Arthur suddenly paused, then slapped his own forehead again.

"Wait a minute... why the hell am I taking the stairs?"

Elevators existed for a reason.

He doubled back, found the elevator, and calmly pressed the button for the fifth floor—Maine's floor. Then he leaned against the back wall, tapping ash onto the floor while he waited.

Upstairs, two members of the MaxTac squad—Night City's elite psycho-squad—stood at the elevator entrance, guns raised, cyberoptics locked on the elevator display.

They weren't playing games. The moment the elevator dinged, they opened fire.

"Bang! Bang! Bang!"

Bullets shredded through the doors before they were even fully open, transforming the elevator car into a perforated metal coffin. Smoke and sparks filled the shaft.

When the smoke cleared, they moved in—cautiously at first. But the car was empty. Only a single, still-smoking cigarette butt lay on the floor.

Confused, one of them stepped forward to inspect it.

That's when Arthur dropped from the ceiling, a pair of red-glowing mantis blades slicing silently through the air until they rested on both of their necks.

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"Evening, gentlemen."

Both men froze, sweat pouring beneath their helmets. Not a twitch.

They'd been baiting, sure—classic trap. Anyone foolish enough to step into the elevator was asking to get lit up. Their nerve boosters were primed to activate in a split-second response.

But they never saw him coming.

Arthur grinned. "No need to be tense. I had drinks with your captain last night. Sealed a deal worth a few hundred mil, give or take. So I'd rather not slice up her precious soldiers."

He leaned in, voice dropping. "Now, if my friends don't want to hurt me, and I don't want to hurt them, how about you two just take a little nap?"

"Don't like the offer? That's fine. I can always turn your heads into trophies. Think of it as a... heartfelt apology."

Of course, Arthur had never actually been in the elevator. As soon as the doors closed, he'd climbed into the overhead maintenance space and lay in wait. It was a classic move, and it worked like a charm nearly every time. No one ever checked the ceiling in the first few seconds—too busy looking for the guy they swore just entered the car.

The MaxTac soldiers looked at each other. Friend of the captain? Fine by them. Morality wasn't really their thing—most of them had rap sheets before enlisting, and this gig was just a high-paying license to kill.

Arthur didn't wait for their reply. He withdrew his mantis blades, flicked on his reflex boosters, and slammed their heads together with a satisfying crack.

"Beautiful sound," he muttered. "Skulls like that—must be vintage grade."

A voice interrupted his musings, sharp and a little shaky. "You've got terrible taste in foreplay, Arthur. If I'd known you were coming, I'd have stayed in bed."

Arthur turned and saw Lucy. Her white hair was tousled, her left hand clutched tightly over a bleeding wound. She was pale but composed—almost too composed.

Still, her pupils were pinpricks. She'd seen blood, seen combat—but MaxTac? That wasn't street scum. That was industrial-level butchery.

The trail of blood Arthur had left behind was thick. It wasn't from a single person. It was a massacre. The floor beneath his boots was soaked enough to leave full imprints.

Lucy's gaze flicked to the carnage. She cursed under her breath.

"Cyberpsycho."

Arthur just grinned. "Hey, if it isn't my favorite netrunner. Tell me who messed you up—I'll carve them a second mouth."

She didn't miss a beat.

"Saburo Arasaka."

Arthur blinked. "Wait—Saburo himself? The old fossil's in Night City?"

Lucy scoffed. "An Arasaka agent pulls a trigger, that means Arasaka pulled the trigger. If the Arakawa faction fights, that means Saburo is behind it. Any questions?"

She turned away, motioning for him to follow.

Arthur stared after her, brow furrowed. "Now that you say it... that sounds weirdly familiar."

He lit another cigarette as he followed her into the dark, smoke curling behind h

im like a whisper of déjà vu.

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